


From the fire, Into the Snow

by ApocalypseAuxiliatrix



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Insomnia, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Your Heart Shall Burn, Pry meaningful platonic relationships from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24301903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseAuxiliatrix/pseuds/ApocalypseAuxiliatrix
Summary: In the Aftermath of Haven's fall, the Herald needs a little help. Not that she would ask. Cole is there to help, and if necessary, enlist help to doing so.
Relationships: Female Cadash & Cole, Female Cadash & Solas (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 6





	From the fire, Into the Snow

The herald closed the flap of the tent with a heavy sigh. The unwanted attention she drew after the damn breach keep growing—It haunted her. She wished nothing more to grab whoever bowed— _ Bowed _ before her and shake some sense into them.  _ Her _ . She snorted at the idea of any of that people seeing what she did for a living before this madness started. Any Carta member that walked by while that "Herald" Nonsense crossed and she wouldn't hear the end of it. 

Any good reasoning Carta member would have turned around and left a long time ago, breach be damned. It seemed this wasn't the case for her.

_ "You got too much air and sun on that head of yours, Dara. It won't do you no good to ignore the stone under your feet." _

Her mother was right, as always. But her warnings seemed to come from a lifetime ago. As much as she hated it, they needed a Herald. And she will have to make do.

But now with Haven destroyed, and the growing threat of the army of Corypheus with  _ a fucking dragon _ ... Dara Cadash let herself plop back on the makeshift stretcher. She would have liked to simply use a bedroll in a shared tent and be done with it—But the ambassador had insisted. The herald of Andraste must look at her best and her shoulder was still a little sore and her arm stiff after the fall. The healers had done what they could, but even magic had their limits.   


_ "An army needs more than an enemy, it needs a cause." _ Mother Giselle had said. She was in charge of making that happen, of course. Stone knows how she was getting that from the mark on her hand.   


And then there were this—things. Visions that haunted her during the brief minutes she seemed to be able to sleep. Whatever this Corypheus had done to the mark on her arm... It had messed with the mark, and her head. Or maybe it was just the fall and Cadash has gone insane. Maybe the stone proud dwarves from Ozrammar were right and she had finally had too much air on her head. She didn't know.

"Blighted nug crap."   


Dara Cadash stared at the ceiling of the tent. Her sleeping hours were few and she was not giving those to the nonsense on her head. So she forced herself to close her eyes. The silence of her tent unsettled her—she preferred the messiness of the actual field, the quiet noise of her companions sleeping near. A clear objective on the horizon. Now, they were stranded, lost. Despite it, Cadash forced herself to even her breath.   


She was fast asleep. Dawn however, found her sitting by the edge of the campfire. The scout, who had nodded off, jumped, startled, when he saw the Herald sitting near his post. He quickly straightened himself, taking his fist to his heart.

"H-Herald!—"

She returned the gesture, with a smile not quite reaching her tired eyes.

....................................

Solas noticed the spirit approach. He had been observing him, of course. The compassion spirit had plenty of work around the survivors; There were many people in need of a kind work, a lost trinket, extra blankets. And yet, nobody remembered him for long. Cole seemed to be alright with that.   


"She sees Haven every night—So she would rather not sleep to not face her failure." He told him, his eyes were trained on the Herald that moved among the tents. The mage looked up from his work, and furrowed his brow. "Cold and pain. The roar haunts her still, the eyes of the corpses that look at her, accusing. She was meant to help, but she couldn't—then the dragon comes again and they all scream in a tempest of fire. Some nights is not them, some nights are the red eyes of Cassandra, the stone growing out of her body, Varric following suit with Bull... " The compassion spirit fell silent.   


That was certainly disconcerting. Dwarves did not dream, their connection to the stone wouldn't allow it. If what the spirit suggested was true...It was possible that the mark had somehow bypassed that, and allowed her into the Fade. That being the case, it was truly a very rare thing. Few members of the Dwarven race would have experienced such thing as dreaming. It was no wonder she was having trouble—and specially after what had happened at Haven.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You can help her. You're in both places. She has never been there before. And she doesn't like sleeping alone."

Solas eyebrows shot up, healer's idea with the support from the Ambassador and the rest of the war table. There were many eyes on the Herald right now, and the need to fuel her Andraste's favored one position was stronger than ever. She had agreed, begrudgingly.   


"Are you certain that would work?"   


The spirit fidgeted, avoiding his gaze. "It might."   


Solas considered it for a moment. "The Herald needs to ask for help by herself."   


"Why?"   


"She's a proud woman, She would turn me away If I outright confronted her when she has not asked." Realization dawned upon him. "That is why you're here, isn't it?"   


The spirit shifted under his gaze, hiding under his hat. "She doesn't want my help. A stranger. But you wouldn't be. A companion, a friend. She doesn't mind sharing a tent—is rarer to sleep alone. Sleeping alone equals failure, betrayal. No clan. No one to watch over her—only the ones without kin sleep alone. And not for long."   


"I'm not kin of her."   


"No. But she trusts you."   


And as silent as he had came, the spirit was gone. Leaving Solas alone with his thoughts.   


His alliance with the inquisitor was important, that's why he had pointed her in the right way. He should draw the line, now. Now that he could. His eyes were still trained in the dwarf, that was approaching the ambassador among the tents.

......   


Dara stumbled, dots clouding her vision for a couple of seconds. Dizziness washed over and she wobbled, righting herself on one of the tables.  _ Again _ , she thought. Lack of sleep was getting to her, but it was not a fight she was willing to let herself lose just yet.

"Herald?"

She waved the ambassador off, grunting. This whole "Herald" thing seemed to be getting worse each day. If there was a hope of just becoming Dara Cadash, Carta member, it thinned after each passing day.   


"Is nothing. I'm fine." She straightened herself." So, we need pelts and furs... There's bound to be life somewhere this damn mountain. I could lead a team of hunters around, if there are any creatures out there, wolf or bear. We could make do."   


Josephine's eyes lingered on her a second more than necessary, concern written on her face.   


"I—Yes. We do have scouts searching the area. I suppose we could ask them to keep eye on preys fit to be hunted."   


"We need to keep pressing to the north."

"Are you certain you can—scout and hunt? We're not short on soldiers that could help...." The ambassador made a quick recount on her head of the people who was still fit to hunt, and what they could need. Messengers were to be sent to capitals, as soon as they found whatever the Herald was set on finding towards the north.

Dara waved her concerns away. "A nice change, I would be finding something useful, for once." She smirked at her, Josephine shrugged it off, not completely convinced.

Around them, the cold and unforgiving mountain air blowed through the tents. And the day carried on. She didn't notice the eyes of the elf at the edge of the camp, observing.

..............   


When Solas had first seen the Herald, she has not been awake. The Dwarven woman had walked out one of the rifts then collapsed, with a strange mark on her hand that reacted to the proximity of the Fade rifts. It was also spreading through her arm—if it finished spreading it would most certainly kill her. In a very painful way, he had to add.

Now, sneaking on her tent in the low light of the fires, he could remember perfectly the angry alchemist comments, the elfroot potions they tried to feed her just to keep her alive.  _ Not sneaking _ he thought,  _ I did approach the tent hoping to talk and instead noticed she was asleep. _ It didn't made him feel less childish. The herald seemed to have a knack for flirting with death and walk away, more often than not. Not always unscathed. He could tell that only from the amount of scars she carried. That first meeting set his impressions of the Carta member, or so he thought. Solas didn't expect...this. That bare defiance against the tide, nor the blunt edge of a hammer, but rather a subtle skilled work of a rogue. A proud woman too, he mused, hoping the spirit was right, and his intervention didn't worsen things.

She was definitively not what Solas would... Expect from a dwarf. 

Dara Cadash jerked on her sleep. A violent twitch of her arms. She didn't make a sound, her face furrowed in distress.   


"Your voice—She likes when you talk about the Fade. It makes her want to see those places too. Maybe if you talk to her while she's dreaming that would chase the bad dreams away." A soft voice behind him, the spirit was peeking through the tent flaps, standing at the edge. Observing.

Solas furrowed his brow. The herald was surely an inquisitive person, but he most certainly didn't hold her for someone that could find something useful in what he had to say of the fade. She was no mage after all. It was clear he had misjudged the herald, and she would refuse to ask for help on that particular matter. By sheer pride?   


No, that was not it. The Inquisitor had flirted with death many times, however she always seemed to keep a line of self preservation. Haven had changed her, he thought. The fight became less about keeping herself alive, and more about keeping those around her safe. It was not only the mark that Corypheus had changed in that battle. 

It was only logical to help where he could, too.   


A quiet cry broke his line of thought

The herald muttered something unintelligible, then swatted away an unseen attacker, mark sparkling. Distress evident on his face, her movements becoming more frantic and violent.   


"He's here. He's here and red lines on the floor, on the walls. It crawls through the dead. She is alone in the middle of the snow, and she can't stop him. She is not strong enough..." the quiet voice of the spirit by his side.   


"Herald." He tapped her shoulder. Nothing.   


"Herald." this time, Solas shook her a little. The dwarf swatted his hands away. Her left hand lighting the tent in strange shadows that danced around the tent. If this had happened before, had no one seen it?   


"Cadash!" This time, Solas shook her hard. She sat up, gasping. Startled, one of her hands flying to the weapons by her bed. He took a step back, hands raised. Letting her know there was no harm intended. Cadash stared around, before running her hands down her face with a grunt.

The mage allowed her to take back her bearings for a moment before speaking. "Are you well? You seemed to be having a nightmare."   


"What?" She furrowed her brow. "I was—seeing things. Doesn't matter. What—What are you doing here?"   


It clicked on his brain. Of course, dreaming would go against her Dwarven nature before the mark. She would not ask for help because she didn't know what was happening.   


"A nightmare, yes. It seemed you were dreaming. Sometimes, dreams can take the forms of memories."   


"I don't dream, Solas. I'm a dwarf, remember?" She stifled a yawn. Solas gave her an unimpressed look. Cadash kept his stare   


"Your mark reacts to your dreams."   


_Oh_ "Fine. Maybe I've been seeing things during the night—Was I that loud that you got called? Stone and nug crap, I wouldn't want another round of singing."

"No, no. I was —ah, passing by."   


"Good. That would have been a hassle."   


Solas chuckled, and reached forward towards her left arm. She swung her legs off the bed and put her left hand in front of him, allowing him to work. A dynamic they had both grown accustomed to, after traveling through the hinterlands. She did had a knack for cuts and scrapes.   


"How long have you been dreaming?"

"Since," She furrowed her brow on concentration "Haven, I'm not sure"   


"Is the anchor's effect, I'm afraid. It somehow allows you to connect to the Fade like other races do." He let his magic work on her arm, sensing the mark. It was still in check, whatever the Herald did while she slept, it didn't disturb it much.

She snorted. "Marvelous. Why this didn't happen before?"   


"As I said, Corypheus changed you. It changed the anchor. Maybe it was that what allows you to dream in the Fade. Maybe you were dreaming since the beginning and you don't remember—is very common for people to forget their walks in the Fade. Although this is highly unlikely. "   


"Blight if I know" the mage retired his hands and she flexed her arm, testing it. "How do you people do it?"   


"The Fade is a very interesting place Herald, it has many wonders to see for the ones that know how to look." He reminded, Dara resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.   


"I barely know when I'm there." She shook her head. "I'm not a mage, Solas."

"Cold. Shaking. Blurriness that won't go away. You don't know if is real. Maybe you will wake up lost in the mountain under what once was Haven—" The spirit spoke up, from behind Solas and for first time Dara noticed the young man."But you're here. You made it out. And yet, when you're in the Fade you... Forget about that."   


Cadash opened her mouth to answer... _ how? _ A flash of images crossed her mind, this boy supporting the chancellor's frame, limping towards the peregrination path.  _ The compassion spirit, people forget him _ . She narrowed her eyes, studying him.

"Did you heard too?"   


"Yes."   


"Well. I'm awake now, and you shouldn't be. Don't lose sleep on my account, I'll be fine." Cadash made a motion to move rubbing the sleep from her face and righting her armor. Solas noticed she slept equipped. Most of the survivors did, the surprise of the last attack still weighing heavily on their minds.

He frowned. "Herald. You are not recovered from Haven, if you do not get proper sleep your injuries won't fully heal—"   


The herald cut him with an annoyed huff.

"Yes, I know. I'll sleep. Now why don't you both leave—"

"You'll go sit by the scout's side to watch the fire." Cole interjected. She gave the boy a hard stare, until he recoiled under his hat.   


"Okay. Fine." She threw up her arms in defeat, and let herself fall back into the bed. "But this won't do anything to fix the predicament we're in. Half of our people died at Haven, we still need to work for the other half."   


He let out a sigh, and dropped to sit at the edge of the bed. "And working yourself to a corpse will provide the infrastructure the inquisition needs." Solas couldn't help the retort. "Hiding your pain will do nothing to lessen it."

"The inquisition needs a herald—Specially after..." Her voice faltered, her eyes flashing the hurt for a second. "It matters not. You told me to scout to the north and that's what I'm doing. And it matters little if I'm Andraste's chosen one or not, because Food and shelter doesn't rain from the Golden city of theirs—But these people need to believe it, Solas. Or we have nothing." She stared up at him, shoulders hunched. He noticed now the bags under the dwarf's eyes, the weight of her concerns upon her.   


"They most certainly do not." He conceded "But this does not changes things. You did well, in Haven. If it weren't because of you then we wouldn't have made it. It is true, the inquisition needs you as their guide right now. But not like this. You are, after all, a mortal."

"You speak like you weren't." She scoffed. "Survived the exalted conclave to die by a dragon in the mountains, Dara Cadash. An epitaph."  _ weirdest Lyrium job, if I ever been in one. And I couldn't even keep my kin safe _ . But she kept that part to herself, and was grateful when the spirit by the tent's entrance kept silent about it.

"He was the one to bring death and fire. He was mad because you took his mages." Cole interjected. "You didn't kill them."   


Or not. Cadash sighed, making her neck pop before leaning back again, arms crossed over her face.   


"Is all the same, isn't it? We're still here."

"Cole suggested something for your predicament" Solas perked. "It might help you sleep, and perhaps improve your exploration of the Fade."   


"So you weren't just  _ passing by." _ Cadash peeked one of her eyes at Solas, who avoided her gaze. "This is your doing." She added, turning towards the spirit.

"I was not passing, no." Solas answered after a moment. "Although I feared you might not talk to me if I confronted you. And I was right."

She let out an ambiguous grunt, covering her eyes with the crook of her elbows. "I'm listening."   


"Would you care to hear about my travels on the Fade? It could provide a valuable distraction and maybe show you a different side of the Fade you're not seeing, yet."

"How optimistic" Dara grumbled again, "Alright, get comfortable then." She peered from under her arms to the spirit that still remained. "If you're gonna stay too, close the flap or the wind gets in."   


Solas raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. He waited until the young spirit moved away from the edge of the tent to a corner, arranging himself at the end of her makeshift bedroll, before starting.

"I once met a friendly spirit..."

And he told her about spirits. He told her about the almost faded whispers that lingered on the edges, he told her of forgotten tales of wonders lost to time and records. Solas avoided the tales of soldiers and spirits caught in the crossfire of battles, of the mourning of the fallen and the silent pain of the survivors. He could tell the Herald, like every single person around these tents had enough of those spirits haunting them. So he spoke of memories instead, of lovers who were gently nudged towards each other, silent observers that mirrored the shapes of feelings the people lived, he spoke of quiet wonders and windows to other eras.   


The night dragged on, the howling wind still hushing around them. The Herald was a good listener, and from one of her arms she peeked at him while he talked. Solas lost count of how many stories he had recalled—He was no storyteller, like Varric, but he was happy to share what he knew. He didn't stop when the Herald's breath evened, nor when he heard a soft snoring. He only stopped when the spirit, Cole finally moved.

"Warm hands, a crackling fire. Her kin is safe, her clan is safe. There's solid walls around her. There's no more cold, and no more fighting for today. You helped. Thank you."

And as silent as he had came, he left. Solas was left alone with the sleeping herald and his thoughts. She looked relaxed for first time in a while, and he hummed, a quiet "Rest well, my friend." Before creeping out of the tent. 

.......   


The next morning, the Scout was ready. He polished his weapons, cleaned his armor as best as he could. He even asked specifically for this post, two days in a row. Stood in perfect stance, not a single hair out of his helmet, ears and eyes sharp. Only when the dawn started to shine upon the camp, he started to lose his hope that the herald would show to the fire, like last night. Was it a common inspection? Maybe it was a secret plot to keep them all in line... 

He let out a sigh, dropping his eyes. Only 5 minutes, his watch was almost over anyways and in no time the camp would be up and moving... 

"Excellent morning, isn't it?" 

He jumped, startled, barely straightening himself at a reasonable speed to show his respects. He gulped just to think of Commander Cullen watching that poor excuse of salute. At his side the Herald smiled, much more relaxed than last night. 

"At ease, soldier. Today we move north."

Around them, the wind howled

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a self indulgent fic born at 3 am? Yes. Do I regret anything? No. Please, let me know what you think.


End file.
